


In this world (we’re just beginning)

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Art, Embedded Images, Fanart, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: Like their clothes, they have a new lease on life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Heaven Is A Place On Earth - Belinda Carlisle / Oversized (denim?) jackets and/or 80s vibes generally
> 
> Henrymercury, you wanted oversized denim jackets, I hope I delivered. I love this song! I was inspired by the implications of new beginnings and letting go of fear and allowing someone else be there and be supportive.
> 
> This is pure unadulterated fluff with a side of cheese. Thank you to Drarryismymuse for the beta read!

It’s not like Harry hasn’t seen the latest Muggle fashions. He reads magazines, he goes out for boys’ nights at the dodgy places Seamus picks, and while the patrons won’t be on the cover of _Vogue_ anytime soon, there are televisions in the pubs. And only a year ago (it seems so much longer) he was on the run, popping into London on a desperate Apparition. Still, it was hard to pay attention to street style when you were quite literally running for your life.

Therefore, Harry has no idea where to shop.

Hermione tells him to get out of the house more often; Ron tells him to get a date. The _Prophet_ speculates on exactly who the lucky lady will be, and Ginny cackles at each ludicrous suggestion, knowing how far off base they are. Harry shrugs and resigns himself to hanging out in Muggle bars with Dean and Seamus, feeling like a third wheel all the while. So tonight he’s striking out on his own.

He’s nervous: Harry has never gone out with the main intention of pulling before. There’s also something exciting about it and the anticipation has him keyed up. But while Harry’s worn jeans and trainers might be fine for an aging local pub, he thinks he’ll need something a little better if he’s going to be successful.

London shopping districts still confuse him; he wanders into the Oxfam absentmindedly before he realizes what he’s done. Children in primary school had seen second-hand clothes as something to insult, leveling accusations at Harry’s wardrobe that consisted of Dudley’s castoffs. But Harry himself feels like used goods in many ways, so he stubbornly decides to stay and see what he can find.

The racks are full of plain clothes but there are some bright spots, neon even, in one section labeled “vintage” with a handmade sign. These are the styles Harry remembers from his childhood, on MTV or magazine covers. They are hopelessly out of date now, but Harry still can recall dreaming about what it would be like to be happy and carefree, far away from the Dursleys. The light wash jeans and day glo skirts bring to mind pop songs, played secretly on cassettes when he was locked in the house. One jacket catches his eye, and he reaches for it.

A soft hand meets his across rough denim, and Harry freezes.

———

Draco has nearly backed down from his plan six - no, seven times now - and each time he has somehow found the courage to continue. His year long house arrest is over and he’s going to celebrate. Blaise is a never-ending font of information on all things ‘party’ and he is suspiciously well versed in Muggle nightlife for a Pure-blood. Still, it’s to Draco’s benefit. When he came out to his friend six months ago (it seems so much longer) Blaise had simply nodded sagely and said “Heaven, then. That’s where you’ll want to go.”

He wasn’t telling Draco to off himself: Heaven is a gay nightclub. A Muggle one, where Draco can ease into things before exposing himself in the Wizarding World. He isn’t ashamed, he tells himself. It’s just easier to make sure first.

But plucking up his courage is one thing; looking the part is another. Muggle fashion is still impenetrable to Draco. His only knowledge of it comes from Muggle-born students who’d worn clothes from home on Hogsmeade weekends, and a pair of ratty magazines Millie had kept hidden in the Slytherin common room, stashed behind a volume of outdated Potions journals. Her issues of _Smash Hits_ and _The Face_ were obsolete, stolen from her much older sister, but they stuck in Draco’s mind. Bright colours, a lot of hair, and that denim fabric Muggle-born students favored for trousers.

Finally allowed to Apparate once more, Draco leaves the Manor for London and immediately gets lost.

Two furniture stores and one pet boutique later, he finally stumbles into a shop that sells clothing. It’s a bit cluttered and does nothing to dissuade him from the notion that Muggle culture doesn’t progress much. The racks are full of plain jackets and shirts, boring as can be, and doubt creeps over him. Then, from the corner of his eye, he spots it:

Neon.

The sign on the rack says “vintage,” like the clothes are rarefied wine. The bright yellow piece that drew Draco’s eye is unfortunately attached to netting of some sort and he immediately discounts it. But on the other side of the rack is a denim jacket, just like he’d seen in the magazines, and he reaches through the rack without crossing to the other side.

His hand makes contact with something decidedly _not_ denim, and Draco pulls back. He stretches up on tiptoes to look over the rack, only to see the owner of the hand doing the same.

“Potter?!”

———

“Malfoy?!”

It’s Malfoy. Draco bloody Malfoy, in an _Oxfam,_ of all places. He’s looking… well, better than the last time Harry saw him, at a Wizengamot hearing where he’d been given a year’s house arrest. _Much_ better, if Harry is honest. His hair is sleek and chin length, a bit shorter in the back, which is a strange look for a boy but Draco makes it work. With the rack between them, Harry can’t tell what he’s wearing below the plain blue shirt with the top two buttons undone, but he can see his throat work as Draco swallows nervously.

“Fancy meeting you here, Potter.” It isn’t fancy at all; Draco is terrified. Harry had testified briefly for him, and owled his wand, but they haven’t seen each other since.

“Are you shopping?” Harry asks, and cringes. Of course he’s shopping, he’s in a clothing store for Merlin’s sake. But Draco doesn’t have a smart remark, he only nods.

“I’m going out.”

“Er, me too. I’m out. Going out!” _Get it together, Harry, he’s hardly the first fit bloke you’ve ever seen._ “And you’re looking in the… vintage section?”

Draco stiffens. “I know quality when I see it.”

“It’s not like antiques, Malfoy. Older usually just means out of style.” Draco visibly deflates, and Harry feels awful for hurting his feelings. If he’s in a Muggle clothing store, he’s obviously come a long way from his former stuck-up self. “But then it comes back in style! What were you looking at, the jacket?”

“Yes, but… weren’t you going to take it?” Draco certainly can’t snatch the jacket from Harry. He gets whatever he wants: free brooms and robes from people seeking his endorsement, _Prophet_ covers, probably a statue in the atrium of the Ministry. And for once, Draco doesn’t begrudge him. Secretly he’s grateful, even if he’s never said as such.

Harry shrugs. “There’s plenty more to choose from. Go on, try it. Bet it looks good on you.” He pulls the jacket off the rack and holds it out.

Draco blushes furiously, but accepts the jacket. “Here? Do the shopkeepers mind?”

Harry shakes his head. “There’s a fitting room for trying on other things, but you can just pull that on over your clothes.”

Draco carefully fits his arms through the sleeves of the jacket. It’s heavy, but not oppressively so. The denim fabric is a bit scratchy and will take some getting used to. He notes that Harry is wearing the same fabric as trousers, and they suit him.

“Wow.” Harry was right, the jacket _does_ look good on Draco. It’s a little big in the shoulders, but that only serves to accentuate Draco’s slim figure. The cuffs come down over his slender hands, and Harry sees him nervously pull the left one down even further, like it’s a habit. “I like it. It doesn’t really work with those trousers, though. Do you want to find something else? And a shirt?”

The casual way that Harry is helping him surprises Draco and pleases him, as does the appraising gleam in Harry’s eye as he looks Draco up and down. Draco turns to the rack and looks for a colour he likes; a bright green among the shirts stands out. But when he pulls it off the hanger, he realises it’s a skirt. “They must have hung this in the wrong section.” It’s honestly too bad; Draco always envied Pansy the freedom of her swishy skirts. He holds it up to himself, despite the fact he can’t buy it. Can he?

“I mean, you can wear a skirt if you want to,” Harry stammers, suddenly picturing it. “It’s not really fair to keep clothing so gendered. Where… where is it you’re going again?”

“It’s…” There’s no way Harry would know the name of a Muggle gay club, right? “It’s called Heaven.”

“The gay club?!” It can’t be. That’s one of the places Harry himself was planning to go! It had come with a good recommendation from Seamus and Dean - well, Seamus at least, Dean was never much for loud music and flashing lights. Is that why Draco looks frightened out of his mind? Because he’s venturing into London _and_ coming out? Harry suddenly thinks he is very brave.

Draco freezes, keenly aware of what he’s admitted. He tilts his chin up defiantly. “So what?”

“Nothing! I might - I might go there, too. Tonight.” _Please don’t be an arse about this, Malfoy. I’m giving you a chance._

“You? But you’re-” _You’re the Golden Boy, destined for fame and glory and a brood with She-Weasel. You can’t be gay._ Draco wisely keeps that to himself. “I was planning on going tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh.” Harry gets a terrible idea. A wonderful, terrible idea. “We could… go together? If you like.”

It must be the strange excitement that Draco’s felt all day, the heady mix of fear and anticipation of trying something new, that compels him to agree. “Alright.”

“Alright, then.” It’s mad, and likely to end in disaster, but Harry is going to do it anyway.

They simply stare at each other for a moment. “We still need to find something to wear, then,” Draco finally says.

“Right! Well, I think we can be adventurous with the fashion, since it’s a nightclub.” He gestures to the skirt Draco still clutches.

 _What the hell._ “I’ll go try it on, then.”

“Do you want a shirt?” Harry rifles through the clothing racks, tongue poking out as he concentrates. Draco thinks he looks unbearably adorable. “Here.” He hands Draco a plain white t shirt from the section behind them. “And I don’t know your shoe size, but trainers would be good.” Unfortunately, when they look in the shoe section, there are none to be found. There is a pair of black boots that Harry immediately wants to try on.

“That’s my size,” Draco says absently, as he watches Harry roll his denim trousers and lace up the boots. Who knew ankles could be sexy?

“Yeah? Take my trainers then, go to the fitting room.”

Draco gingerly lifts the trainers; thankfully, they don’t smell, and he takes them behind the curtain with the rest of his finds. The skirt ends up exactly how he imagined, mid-thigh and pleasingly swishy, and he does a secret twirl for the mirror. The white T-shirt is a size too small, but it works under the oversized jacket. Draco had no idea Muggle fashion could make him feel so attractive. And as if this day couldn't get any more absurd, he is literally in Harry Potter’s shoes.

“What do you think?” Harry turns from his place back at the vintage rack to see Draco Malfoy in a white shirt tight enough to show a surprisingly defined chest, a neon green skirt, and Harry’s favourite trainers, all topped by the slouchy denim jacket.

His legs go on _forever._

Harry is doomed.

Finally he manages to speak. “Good, it’s good. You, um, you look great, Malfoy.”

“Yeah?” Draco twists this way and that, looking down at himself. “Not too weird? I don’t know how Muggles react.”

Thing is, Harry doesn’t exactly know, either. But the teasingly genderbending musicians in the magazines paint club culture as quite flamboyant. Also, every time Draco turns, Harry catches a glimpse of the outline of a pert arse under that neon green. “If you like it, you should buy it.” Draco still seems doubtful. “Really, you look amazing,” Harry adds quietly.

Draco raises his eyes to find Harry staring widely at him. It doesn’t seem like he’s lying or placating. “Ok. I um, I will. What - what did you end up with?” He nods at the shirt in Harry’s hand.

“Oh, right!” Harry holds the shirt up. “I’ve seen a shirt like this before.” He honestly can’t remember where in his childhood, but it’s hard to forget the large BOY logo printed across the vest. “This, with the boots and jeans?” He looks down and realises the colour of his denim is too dark to wear with a black shirt and boots; he’ll simply become a shadow in a club. Spotting another pair on the rack - much too small for him - he gets an idea. A quick check tells him the clerk is preoccupied, so he pulls out his wand and Transfigures the colour of his jeans to match the light acid-wash of the vintage pair. “That’s better.”

Draco gasps and glances around furtively. “Potter! You’ll get us in trouble!” _You’ll get me in trouble, at least._ Harry just shakes his head and laughs it off. In school, Draco had never seen him so carefree, like all his worries were over.

His smile is breathtaking.

Draco is doomed.

“Are you going to try that on?” he asks, feigning nonchalance. He really wants to see Harry in that vest.

“Yeah, guess I should. It might be too big.” Harry heads behind the curtain, and emerges again in only a moment, having only to pull one shirt off and tug another over his head. “Look okay?”

 _Okay_ doesn’t begin to cover it. When did Harry Potter get arms like that? “F-fine. You look fine.” It’s Harry’s turn to appear doubtful, but Draco reassures him. “You look amazing, too.”

That gorgeous smile returns, but before Draco can reply a voice startles them both. “Are you boys going out to an 80’s night?” The clerk has finally come over. Draco has no idea what an ‘80’s night’ is, but Harry lights up.

“That’s not a bad idea, you know. A lot of clubs have one. Let’s find out if Heaven does.” Draco wants to tell him to shut up, to not mention where they are going, but the clerk simply gives them a once over and a secret little smile. “You make a lovely pair. We close in ten minutes, though, so if you’d like to buy those bring them up to the counter.”

Draco goes red to the tips of his ears. “A pair?” he says faintly, but the clerk is already walking away. Harry is blushing as well.

“We can just go as friends,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t asking you out, I just thought… since we were both going.” It’s true, he wasn’t asking Draco to go as a date before, only hoping to encourage whatever new leaf his former nemesis seems to be turning over. But now Harry thinks he _will_ be asking him to dance.

 _Friends._ Everything Draco had wanted as a child, and now it doesn’t seem like enough. He’ll take it for now, though. “Friends,” he nods.

 

CODA

 

Heaven does not have an 80’s night, but Draco and Harry show up in their new outfits anyway.

No one gives them a second look, at least not for their clothes. The music is fairly standard pop; Harry recognises some of the songs. Both boys have several offers to dance but they turn them all down in favor of hanging near the bar together. Finally, Harry gets the courage to ask Draco out on the floor.

“It’s midnight, you know what that means!” the DJ announces. “Time for our unofficial theme song!” The crowd gives a cheer and a dated but upbeat tune begins.

_Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?_

_Ooh, Heaven is a place on earth_

The lyrics are about love, and the floor seems to be mostly couples. Draco is still a bit in shock that men are allowed to show affection like this in public and, caught up in the moment, he drifts closer to Harry until he has one hand on his dance partner’s chest. His finger lightly trails over the BOY logo.

“Are you making sure no one forgets?” Draco smirks.

Harry laughs and puts his hands on Draco’s waist. He meets no resistance, and slowly slides one hand further back. Draco’s arse is just as squeezable as he expected.

_Baby, I was afraid before_

_I’m not afraid anymore_

They’re pressed completely against one another now, and Harry knows Draco can feel his burgeoning erection. Slyly, Draco leans up and whispers in his ear. “Truth in advertising.”

Harry grins. “Buy me dinner and you’ll find out for sure.”

Draco laughs into his neck and spins away, his skirt twirling out. “Later. Right now I just want to dance.”

The look of absolute joy on Draco’s face as he experiences freedom, for what Harry suspects is the first time, makes his heart clench. Like their clothes, they have a new lease on life. Harry intends to make every second count.

_They say in Heaven, love comes first._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Now with art! Commissioned from the wonderful [mad1492](http://mad1492.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)


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